


The Scars We Carry

by AllTheQueensHorses



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Talk of dangerous situations, basically Eskel could have died but didn’t
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29749068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheQueensHorses/pseuds/AllTheQueensHorses
Summary: Eskel is dreading his return to Kaer Morhen this winter because no one has seen his fresh faceful of scars yet.Set sometime early on and slightly non-canonical.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	The Scars We Carry

**Author's Note:**

> Essentially the only thing I changed from canon was the story behind how Eskel got his scars. I felt a hunt gone wrong seemed a bit more interesting.
> 
> Also, my head canon is that Vesemir calls them all ‘son.’

He was four days out from the keep when Eskel realized it. None of the other Witchers had seen his scars yet, the fresh jagged lines that raked from above his brow to the point of his chin. 

He had gotten them that spring from a hunt gone wrong. He had been paid to kill an archgriffin that had been terrorizing a local village. It should have been a simple job, and it would have been if there hadn’t been another griffin hidden, crouched silently over a nest in the brush. He hadn’t noticed it, too caught up with claiming his trophy, and too late heard the second lunging for him. He barely escaped that day with his life and spend the following two days laying next to the second griffin’s carcass in the field with blood-soaked clothing as he healed. Only some of it was the griffin’s blood.

That hunt had almost cost him his life and he had learned a valuable lesson that day, one he should have learned years back. He had listened to Vesemir tell them time and time again to never trust that there was only one monster. More often than not, the monsters they hunted lived in packs. Vesemir knew that, he knew that, they _all_ knew that, but he had listened to the villagers who swore there was only one. He had been too trusting and careless.

 _A careless hunter was a dead one._ Those were Vesemir’s words too. The older Witcher had told them time and time again to not get careless and Eskel had. 

He was dreading what Vesemir would say when he saw the scars. 

———

The journey to the keep should have only taken Eskel four more days but there was a contract for a group of drowners a day off his path and then a water hag in the next village over from that, so he figured he might as well make a bit more coin before winter. His horse would need new shoes come spring and if the contracts delayed him another few days, that wasn’t _entirely_ intentional, was it?

Eventually though, he knew he couldn’t delay any longer. The air was growing colder by the day and the snows would start falling on the pass before long. He turned Scorpion towards Kaer Morhen. 

———

The wooden doors of the keep’s outer gate loomed before him all too soon. Eskel felt a flutter of unusual nervousness in his stomach. He led Scorpion to the stables. The other Witchers’ horses were there already, bedded down in fresh hay. Eskel unsaddled his horse and brushed her down. He took his time, but only because it had been a hard journey to the Witchers’ wintering location and she deserved the extra care, nothing more. 

_Nothing more._ He swallowed hard. 

Eventually though, Scorpion had been fed, watered, and brushed until her coat shone. He couldn’t delay any longer unless he wanted to sleep in the stables. With a deep breath, he grabbed his equipment and made his way to the oak doors of the main hall. His enhanced hearing could hear the other men inside, rowdily talking and joking around with each other. He shouldered the doors open and pushed his way inside. The conversation paused, as the other Witchers turned, almost as one. They sat in a semi-circle around the fire at the far end of the hall, beers in hand.

“About time!” Lambert yelled across the hall to him. Eskel dropped his gear by the door and sauntered over into the firelight, trying to appear...he didn’t even know. Confident? Carefree? Something other than the nervousness he felt. 

Geralt was the first to notice and he elbowed Lambert in the side. Lambert turned to see what all the fuss was about and let out a whistle. “Holy _shit,_ man. What the hell happened to you?” He was never one to mince words, Eskel thought. Sometimes that was okay with him though because he didn’t think he had the nerve to start the conversation tonight. 

“I couldn’t let you be the only one the ladies fall all over.” He shot back with a forced grin. He could feel the scars across his lips pulling at his smile, turning it into more of a smirk than he wanted it to be. Vesemir was sitting perfectly quiet on his left and Eskel didn’t dare look over at him. 

Geralt shoved Lambert over on the bench to make room for Eskel and handed him a beer. “It looks good on you. Makes your face look a little nicer too.” he said, half sincere, half joking. 

Lambert snorted. “I think that makes _me_ the handsomest of us all now.” 

Geralt elbowed him again, earning him a smack on the shoulder in return. “Shows how much you know, ‘Bert. Ladies love scars.” 

Eskel smiled at their banter and gratefully took the flagon offered to him. He took a long drag from it and risked a peek over the top at Vesemir then. His mentor was watching him, face unreadable. 

“I’m glad you’re back, son.” He said quietly. Eskel nodded at him in thanks, grateful that he didn’t say more. 

The Witchers sat until the coals burned low, drinking, catching up, and enjoying each other’s companies. 

Geralt eventually was the first to stand to turn in for the night and the rest of them followed suit. Eskel turned, about to retrieve his things from the entryway when Vesemir caught at his elbow. “Just a moment, son.” 

All of the nervousness came flooding back then. 

Eskel turned around reluctantly. He heard Lambert and Geralt leaving the room behind him and desperately wished they wouldn’t. 

“What happened?” Vesemir asked, voice soft but stern. His eyes roamed over the scars now that he could see them fully. Eskel knew he was sizing them up, reading with experienced eyes how bad the encounter had been. 

_How close to death he had come._  
  
Eskel let out a breath before he replied. “An archgriffin hunt. I didn’t realize there was a second one.” He admitted. 

Vesemir was silent for a moment, _too long,_ and Eskel couldn’t stand it. 

“I was careless. I’m sorry, Vesemir. I didn’t want to come back with a faceful of scars.” He waved his hand to encompass the lines spreading across his cheek, hoping Vesemir could read between the lines to what he was trying to say.

_I’m sorry, forgive me?_

He couldn’t meet the older Witcher’s eyes. 

Vesemir put a warm hand on his shoulder and turned Eskel to face him. “I’d rather you come back with scars than not at all,” he said with a squeeze of his hand, and Eskel knew all was forgiven.


End file.
